Second Star to the Right
by WolfAtSea
Summary: "Oh, Cassie, it's a matter of principle." - My interpretation of Lucifer's fight with Amara. After S11E15 Beyond the Mat and before S11E18 Hell's Angel.
**My first one-shot XD**

 **Probably shouldn't have spent much of my day on this since in the Canadian system, uni exams start NEXT WEEK. (horror) But I just wanted to get this out before I take a study break and go watch this past Wednesday's episode.**

 **I'm also thinking of expanding this into a multi-chapter and/or making a sequel. What do you think?**

* * *

 _So, what you're saying is,_ Castiel asked, his voice incredible _, you are not sure you can defeat the Darkness?_

Lucifer sighed. The lesser angel emanated anger, betrayal, hurt.

 _No, that's not what I mean. All I'm saying is, I know I can defeat her, but whether I, or rather we in this situation, can remain in one piece afterwards is another question altogether. That bitch's going down, but she might take me down with her._

 _So this is a suicide mission._ Castiel surmised.

 _Highly likely, yes._

A pause, then Castiel stated, _I'm fine with that._ None of the trepidation and disappointment that Lucifer expected.

The archangel was silent for a while, until Castiel carefully asked, _are you?_

Lucifer didn't answer, but to tell the truth, the answer was obvious to the both of them. There was no question as to whether he would face off the Darkness eventually; the only questions were _when_ and _who would win_. That's why Castiel said "yes"; that little seraph was naïve and needy, but not stupid.

It was currently the middle of the night, and they'd commandeered an empty house on the outskirts of a one-street town, somewhere in South Dakota. Perfect time for a brotherly heart-to-heart. Angels didn't need sleep, but Lucifer had to bite back his bruised pride and admit that it would feel good to lie down for a while. Damn Crowley and his Rod of Aaron. He had a splitting headache, and somehow the bruises he couldn't wish away. He was on the verge of panic with this new sensation until Castiel quietly admonished him and explained that this was how humans experienced pain. Stupid humans.

Lucifer would never admit this, but in this moment of weakness, Castiel's presence was welcome. Possessing an angel was a whole lot different than possessing a human; keeping little Cassie locked up in his own corner was more bother than it was worth. Plus, Lucifer needed his help to keep this vessel from falling apart. Think heavy-duty voltage transformer, only on angelic grace level.

 _Why are you doing this?_ Castiel suddenly asked.

 _Doing what?_

 _This – fighting Amara._ Castiel ventured tentatively. _You know my reasons well enough…_

It was a damn good question. The answer Lucifer wanted to entertain the least was that this was why he was created in the first place and him bringing down the Darkness was all part of God's Plan. The most logical answer would be that if Auntie Amara won, all of them would be screwed, including him. The most honest answer was he didn't know. So Lucifer went with _oh, Cassie, it's a matter of principle._

Lucifer shifted into a position that hopefully wouldn't put so much pressure on the bruises on his back. Castiel was mercifully silent for a few moments, then the game of twenty questions started again.

 _Do you think there's an afterlife for angels?_

The fallen angel was caught off guard. _I… I don't know. Why are you asking me?_ Lucifer said, rather flippantly. _You've kicked the can more times than is healthy, kid._

 _I've never gone that far._ Castiel countered.

 _Well, then, probably not._

 _So after we leave… here, there is nothing?_

 _Yeah, just nothing._

 _So are you afraid of leaving?_

Lucifer replied petulantly. _Why would I be afraid of nothing? There would be nothing to complain about!_

 _If there is nothing, then all the brothers and sisters we lost: Hannah, Balthazar, Raphael, Gab-_

For some reason, Lucifer minutely cringed when the name of the Trickster was mentioned, but Castiel carried on:

 _\- Gabriel… that would just be…_

Castiel paused, and then suddenly said. _That's what the humans feel, isn't it? The uncertainty? Not knowing if there is a God; not knowing if there is a Heaven? But isn't this uncertainty what makes life all the more exciting and worthwhile?_

Lucifer was deadly still for a long time. There wasn't even a contemptuous remark on how dare Castiel compare themselves to humans.

 _Castiel, could you shut up so I can get some sleep?_ The Devil finally said.

The seraph complied.

* * *

Castiel wasn't afraid of dying. The honest truth was that he'd been down that road a few times too many to be properly scared. Sure, the very first time he was scared stiff, as the archangel Raphael rained down his fury and tore him into a thousand pieces with a mere thought. But this time? Not coming back from the battle against Amara might be the best thing that could happen. Only in this way could he guarantee there wouldn't be another Apocalypse, and that humanity and his friends could be safe. So no, Castiel was a little on edge but he was not afraid of dying. He also had the feeling that Lucifer maybe was.

Two days after the Aaron's Rod incident, after the vessel had recovered enough, they resumed the hunt for a weapon that could dramatically increase their chances against the Darkness. This brought them to ancient tombs, Smithsonian museums, private collections of ridiculously rich humans all around earth. Crowley and the Winchesters were on more or less the same hunt, so they engaged in a three-way Tom and Jerry chase for quite a while. Each and every time, Cas had been able to keep Lucifer from hurting Sam and Dean. He'd come up with some very creative methods of slowing down the vessel or regaining control at the most critical moments. How Crowley managed to get away every time was anyone's guess, but his objective was to find something that could keep the Devil from exploding him, so it wouldn't do to get himself killed by said fallen angel in the process.

 _Could you please stop crippling this vessel every time we run into your precious little humans so we could actually get shit done?_ Lucifer cornered Castiel one day, exasperated and positively murderous.

 _You'd have to promise not to harm them_ , the seraph stood his ground. He also reminded himself that although he didn't mind dying, now was not a convenient time to be smited.

 _Okay. I promise not to intentionally harm them, for now._ Lucifer said. _H_ _appy now?_

Castiel wasn't going to trust the words of the Father of Lies.

 _Oh, did you want me to pinkie swear too?_ Lucifer sneered. Castiel replied, in all seriousness, that it would not be necessary. But he was going to do this song and dance for as long as necessary; anything to save Sam and Dean.

Three weeks and four days into the hunt, Lucifer threw a piece of pre-historic rock so hard into the Atlantic that it probably shot into the seabed, and cursed with all the most colourful words since Creation.

 _We'll find something else_ , said Castiel, who had no idea why he was consoling the Devil.

"No, it's useless!" Lucifer shouted out loud, the deafening sound shaking the tiny island they were standing on. "I don't need a goddamn rock or a rod to win. I don't need some human tool that He touched. I need –"

 _You need Him_. As soon as the words came out Castiel regretted it. He probably went too far and moved up his death sentence to the next few seconds. But the smiting never came. When Lucifer spoke again, his voice shook.

"But He's not here, is He."

Castiel let out the figurative breath he was holding. _Our Father might surprise you yet._

After that day, Castiel could swear that Lucifer was acting weird, but who was he to judge how the Devil should behave. One day, on a whim, Lucifer spread his wings and flew to the sun at top speed, diving into the core of the star to quell the coldness that had accompanied him for millennia. It didn't work, of course, but Castiel found it exhilarating. He was reminded of how much he missed flying, and although Jimmy Novak was never known for his way with words, Castiel had to concede that being possessed by the archangel was a lot like being strapped to a comet.

One day, the Fallen One took to watching sunsets. They watched one in the Caribbean, and when it was finished, Lucifer blipped to another time zone to watch it again. And again. Castiel didn't comment. _I've always enjoyed sunrises,_ offered Lucifer, possibly by way of explanation, _I remember that very first one so vividly._

Castiel drank it all in – the beauty of his Father's creations. And he would miss them when he was gone, dearly, and he suspected Lucifer felt this way too. But still, Castiel wasn't afraid of dying, if dying meant destroying the Devil and the Darkness, for good.

* * *

When the inevitable showdown came, they set a place and time in advance. There would be no sneak attacks, no tricks. She was growing stronger and bolder by the day, but she was confident that the archangel could not stand up to her even now. The Fallen One was, to be fair, nothing but _used up_. She could feel all of his presence, and he could feel hers. Their very existence was an affront to each other's, and earth was much too tiny a space for them to play hide-and-seek.

When the time came, Lucifer was ready. He even let Castiel say goodbye to Sam and Dean in a dream, because - why not? Now was the perfect time to embrace that last night on earth mentality. He tried not to listen to their conversation in fear of throwing up, but he did hear the angel beg the brothers not to come find them. But of course they would; they were Winchesters, and that meant built-in idiocy and self-sacrifice. Let the brothers come at their own peril; he couldn't care less.

* * *

Sam managed to track the archangel by Cas' phone. They were surprised that the celestial beings didn't think to discard it, but then neither Cas nor the Devil could be expected to be tech-savvy. Their last known location was in Kansas, not so far from home.

When they started, the sky was clear, but as they drove east, they could see a host of dark clouds on the horizon. The clouds seemed to be circulating around one single spot in the field, and the cool evening air was filled with so much tension one could feel his skin tingling. Now there was no doubt this was where it was going to happen.

"Maybe we should wait here." Sam said as they pulled into the parking lot of a little motel twenty something miles away.

"So we think the blast radius of the greatest battle since Creation is twenty miles?" Dean couldn't help but be snarky, but Sam just shrugged.

"Probably not, but we're as likely to die here as we are anywhere else on earth." And as soon as he said that, lightening began to strike.

* * *

The battle was epic, not there were anyone there to witness and to write poems about it. When tit began, they were on earth in the year of Our Lord 2016, but then they ripped through time and space just like that. Good thing they did, or else when the dust cleared, there would be no earth and no time-as-we-know-it to speak of.

There was no strategy in this fight. There were no swords or fists or ancient artefacts touched by God. It was a battle of wills, pure and simple. All encompassing darkness and all encompassing light fighting in all dimensions all at once. Where they clashed, it was something neither dark nor light, something out of the dichotomy, something words cannot describe. And there was the pain – it was like nothing Lucifer had ever felt. It was not the pain of Michael's sword, not the pain of that long, long fall from Heaven, not the scorching pain of Hell's burning lakes, not the numbing pain brought by the coldness of the Cage, not the pain of human wounds and sickness. It was a force entirely foreign consuming him, and all his senses screamed that he could not hold on any longer.

But he did hold on. He supposed he was always a stubborn one, always biting off more than he could chew. Searching through all the dimensions he'd ever visited, he finally found the one where they locked the Darkness in for so long. With one final offence he started pushing her in her old prison. Just when he thought he was making progress, he realized that she was drawing him in, as if she was going to eat him as a whole. As if in quicksand, the dimensions spiralled out of control one by one, but he kept holding on to the only one that mattered. He could hear her voice in his mind, many voices, really, telling him to let go, to give in, to go gently into the good night. It would be pure bliss, the honeyed voices promised, all his problems would disappear. No more fights with Michael, no more petty humanity stealing his place, no more choices between loyalty and freedom, duty and glory. He would never have to be good again; he would never even have to be evil. It would all be gone.

Then there was this presence, so familiar and so powerful that it made he want to weep, if he was capable of weeping in this form. The light shone just this much brighter, and he knew he could let go now. He knew that he did well. His senses slowly shut down, until all that remained was a sweet nothingness.

* * *

The storm clouds dissipated as abruptly as they came. As soon as the sky cleared, the brothers hopped in the car and drove as if there were demons on their heels. Their only thought was on the well being of their angel friend, so strong that they didn't even stop to think about what would happen next if Lucifer did win.

The night was oddly serene now. A thousand tiny stars lined the horizon, and one on the right shone especially bright. "It's Venus." Sam suddenly remarked, "The morning star. It's the brightest before the sunrise." Dean gave him a look, and they drove on in silence.

Ground zero was unmistakable. The entire field was scorched to ashes, miles on end. Dean supposed a thousand lightning strikes could do that to plantation. In the middle of the destruction was a familiar trench coated figure, standing ramrod straight.

"Lucifer?" Sam called out apprehensively, but just from the way the figure held himself, the brothers knew better. "Cas." Dean felt like he could cry.

The angel turned around, a small smile on his lips but his expression still solemn. He glanced over his shoulder as if there was something there that he could not recognize. "My wings." He explained, "He must have fixed them. Or someone did. So that I could come back."

The brothers shared a look. "And, uh, where is the Devil?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know."

"But you guys… put that Darkness witch where she belongs?"

Castiel didn't answer, but raised his eyes to the sky.

Even as they spoke, the stars began to fade. When they looked to the east, rays of red and gold cracked open the thick blanket of darkness, and black started to give way to a faded yellow, then a baby blue.

"Well," Dean said, walking towards the Impala, "Seems like Luci won this one after all." And as they drove in the direction of home, the light followed.

* * *

A few hundred miles away in Illinois, a blonde-haired man on the third floor of Presence Saint Joseph Hospital opened his steely blue eyes. The nameplate at the foot of the bed was empty because no one here knew who this man was; some kid found him unconscious in an alley just two days ago. The nurse let out a yelp of pleasant surprise, and rushed to fetch the doctor.

He blinked a few times, and eyed his surroundings. Is this the afterlife for angels? He hoped not even Dad had so cruel a sense of humour, because he was _not_ going to spend eternity stuck in his human low-life secondary vessel, in a place that smelled like invasive chemicals. But then he really reached out with his senses, and he was certain he was on earth – he could feel that idiotic planet do its daily spin. _Does this mean I won?_

Every fibre of his being hurt, but it was a rather familiar tingling sensation that compelled him to look down at the inside of his right arm. And sure enough, there it was: a reversed check mark and two little dashes on top, humming with power. It was as if the Mark was calling out to him with rage and vengeance, but he paid it no mind, for now. Instead he chuckled. _Full circle_. There was something poetic in that.

A balding human male in a white coat wandered in with a clipboard in hand. He scrutinized the readings on various annoying machines for a minute, and appeared to be satisfied. The nurse came in a few seconds later, placing a cup of water on the bedside table.

"Sir, if you feel up to it, could you tell us who you are?" The doctor asked.

He pondered the question. Just then the nurse drew back the heavy curtain at the far side of the room, and light poured in like a flood. The rising sun was especially bright today, and he thought, not without mischief, _why the hell not_ …

"Doctor," he said, his voice weak and hoarse but his conviction deep, "I am an Angel of the Lord..."

 **[The End]**


End file.
